


Papa Fury

by Hi_Im_Lou



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU - family, Clint is adorable, F/M, Fury is a good dad, Gen, Papa Fury, Tony is a good big bro, so are Coulson and Hill, the Avengers are all kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hi_Im_Lou/pseuds/Hi_Im_Lou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicholas 'Nick' Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Total badass. Caring father. Wait, what?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete AU, where Fury is the adoptive father of all 6 Avengers, Hill, and Coulson too. Their ages are listed below. Clint and Natasha are twins, and are believed to be Russian (their past is unknown to everyone but me) and Clint only really speaks Russian too (translations will be in the end notes.)  
> Tony - 16, Bruce - nearly 15, Thor - 12 , Steve - 10, Phil - 9, Maria - 6, Natasha - just turned 3, Clint - just turned 3
> 
> A/N: Warning - Slash. Don't like, don't read.  
> ALL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN. DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING TO DO WITH THE MCU, THE AVENGERS, THE ACTORS, ETC.

Director Fury sighed. Just once in his life, he'd like a break, be it from incompetent agents, a demanding council, or evil doers set out to destroy countries. He rose from behind his desk, slipping on his signature leather coat and grabbing his bag. Ensuring his computer was shut down, and any files that he'd been reviewing had been locked away, he left his office, locking the door behind him as he slipped down the corridor. He glanced to his left and nodded at Sitwell, wishing him a good evening as he left HQ for the day.  
"You too, Sir."  
Nick made his way to his car, a small smile creeping over his usually stoic face as he thought about returning home. Unlocking the large custom made SUV, he placed his bag on the back seat before climbing into the driver's seat. He sighed once more, the pounding behind his temples wavering in intensity, before starting the ignition and heading for home.  
He wished he hadn't.

Unlocking the front door, he sighed for the third time in the space of an hour as the yelling reached his ears, the pain in his temples increasing as the screeching drew closer. A tug to his trouser legs startled him, a blonde head of hair appearing in his eye line as he glanced down.  
"Papa, ты вернулся."  
Nick nodded once before a smile crept over his face, as begrudged as it was, he couldn't keep a straight face at the serious expression on his youngest's face. He crouched down, folding his six foot one frame in on itself in order to scoop up the smaller than average three year old.  
"Clint, what have I told you about the Russian thing?"  
"Чтобы не только говорить на русском."  
Nick chuckled. He couldn't help it. It was both typical and adorable, and he loved his son for it. Then he frowned.  
The screaming from upstairs reminded him he didn't have an only child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> "Papa, ты вернулся." - Papa, you're back  
> "Чтобы не только говорить на русском." - To not only speak Russian
> 
> (I used google translate, so I apologise for any mistakes. Please let me know if I need to correct anything.)


	2. Chapter Two

_*8 months ago*_  
"Hello?"  
"Yes, hello, I'm looking to speak to-"  
A pause on the other end of the phone, the sound of shuffling papers, before the gruff voice was back.  
"Karen?"  
"Speaking. May I ask who this is?"  
"This is Nick Fury. I adopted Phil, formerly Coulson, a few weeks ago."  
"Oh yes! Little Phil, is he settling in okay? This isn't about him is it? He was so happy when you picked him up-"  
"It is about him, but it's nothing negative." Fury cut the woman's rambling off before it got too far.  
"Oh? Then may I ask what you're calling for Mr Fury?" Karen asked, her manicured nails tapping lightly on the dark wood of her desk.  
"I'm looking to adopt more children. It might get a bit lonely if Phil has no siblings, especially if he's been surrounded by others when living with you. I also realise Phil has a few friends at the orphanage?"  
"A few? Your Phil was, and still is, very popular, Mr Fury. How many were you looking to adopt?"  
"Would it be easier if I just list who Phil has mentioned the most?"  
"More than likely. Please wait a moment while I find the necessary forms."  
"Of course."  
Voices silenced. The distant sound of drawers opening and closing faintly filtered through the phone line. A click of heels and then,  
"Right, now would you like to tell me who you're interested in adopting?"

 _*present day*_  
That had been a long conversation, and a long few months of settling them all in. Nick almost wished he hadn't, what with the noise coming from upstairs. He banished that thought immediately; he loved his kids more than anything in the world, it's just...  
The screaming continued before silencing instantly as six doors slammed in synchronisation, two muffled slams sounding moments after.  
...They could be so loud.  
Nick picked up his bag again, shifting Clint from his arms to his back first, before continuing on his path to the kitchen, he needed to feed his quiet child before he dealt with the others.  
Stepping into the room, he sighed (again) at the mess littering the counters and spread over the main table. One end was near enough glued to the wall, the large piece of oak never being moved, the other end being occupied by Nick's chair. To the right of this sat Clint's high chair, opposite him sat Natasha's booster seat perched on her chair. Next to Natasha's space was Maria's, the rest of the boys sitting where they pleased when it suited them. The entire surface of the table was covered in sheets of paper, some half drawn on, some ripped, all in disarray. Nick retained a sigh, suddenly aware of the fact Clint was picking up on his emotions, the small boy disturbingly observant for a three year old.  
Padding over the back door, Nick removed his boots and hung his coat on one of the hooks lining the wall, before remembering the child near enough superglued to his back. Glancing at his coat, he chuckled out loud as he saw Clint's tiny fingers gripping the leather tightly so as he didn't fall to the tiled floor.  
"Sorry about that, moppet."  
A ghost of a smile flitted across Clint's face at the apology before a devious glint appeared in his crystal blue/grey eyes; Nick hid a smirk, he loved this Clint, the introverted child finally letting himself free of his shell a little bit. Clint's eyes flicked across to the counter top, then the floor, then back to the counter; Nick could almost see the cogs whirring inside his youngest son's head. After seeming to making his executive decision, rather than waiting for his father to grab him, Clint swung a little, using his weight to launch himself from the coat to the edge of the counter he'd been eyeing. Nimble fingers hooked over the edge, before short arms hauled themselves over the top, a small torso and tiny legs following. Clint turned once he was standing on the kitchen side, a triumphant yet small and shy smile gracing his baby features.  
Nick clapped a few times for him, laughing quietly when Clint gave a shy bow, before he extended his arms back towards his Papa.  
"Clint?"  
Curious blue eyes locked onto his own black hue.  
"What were the others yelling and screaming about?"  
Clint frowned as he recalled the details.  
"Фил взял игру Тора, но он не просил сначала, и Стив собирался отдать его обратно, но Тор обвинил Стива, то Фил начал кричать. Тони и Брюс разозлилась, потому что они не могли сделать лабораторный материал, и Мария и Таша разозлилась, потому что они не могли играть. Тогда я спрятался в шкаф вниз здесь."  
Nick grimaced. Despite the fact he was fluent in Russian, the misery in Clint's voice made him a little hard to understand, but from what he could gather, one of his son's borrowed without asking from another, then his eldest got involved before his daughters joined in as well. Just two out of his eight kids arguing was bound to give him a headache, let alone seven all arguing over the same thing. Glancing back at his son, he saw the glint of tears in the little one's eyes. Rushing to quell the sniffles before they even began, he quickly soothed,  
"Alright moppet, that'll do, don't get upset about it. What do you want to eat, huh?"  
Clint shrugged, tiny shoulders pressing into Nick's chest for a brief moment before slumping back down. Pressing kisses to the mop of blonde hair, Nick shuffled over to the fridge, getting out the tub of custard that was left over from the previous night. He then padded over to the fruit bowl and picked up two bananas, before depositing his son in his high chair.  
"Now moppet, you can't tell the others that you've had this, okay?"  
"Хорошо."  
"Good boy, I'll be back over in a minute, okay?"  
Clint nodded, turning his attention to the paper and pens littering the table. He grabbed a purple pen, Nick watching with mild fascination as his son started drawing what appeared to be Natasha and Maria killing their zombie brothers; then again, it was a very child like drawing.  
Nick returned his attention to making Clint a snack, pouring the custard into the only purple bowl they owned before sticking it in the microwave. He kept one eye on Clint the whole time, making sure that he wasn't drawing on the table itself, or falling out of his high chair. Cutting the bananas into slices, he added them to the custard once the microwave started beeping. Stirring it with the small plastic spoon, he turned and made his way back to Clint, placing the bowl before the little one and offering him the spoon to hold. The child dropped the pen he was using and immediately took the offered piece of cutlery, smiling as he felt the warmth of the snack hit his face.  
Nick watched Clint eat, wiping his face every now and again when the child missed his mouth slightly, and instead smeared custard on his nose or cheek. His thoughts wandered to his older children, and how the hell he was gonna fix the mess they'd gotten themselves into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> "Фил взял игру Тора, но он не просил сначала, и Стив собирался отдать его обратно, но Тор обвинил Стива, то Фил начал кричать. Тони и Брюс разозлилась, потому что они не могли сделать лабораторный материал, и Мария и Таша разозлилась, потому что они не могли играть. Тогда я спрятался в шкаф вниз здесь." - Phil took Thor's game but he didn't ask first, and Steve was gonna give it back, but Thor blamed Steve, then Phil started yelling. Tony and Bruce got mad because they couldn't do the lab stuff, and Maria and Tasha got mad because they couldn't play. Then I hid in the cupboard down here  
> "Хорошо." - Okay


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is swearing in this chapter.

Nick sighed; something that was becoming too regular for his own liking. After his snack, Clint's head had started drooping down every so often as he continued with his "artwork", jerking it back up when he realised his nose was touching the lines of purple ink. Nick hid a knowing smile as he stood, clearing away the bowl and spoon, and sticking them in the sink before returning to his child. He scooped the small body up, wrapping his arms easily around the tiny frame before making his way upstairs, borderline _praying_  that the rest of his children would be quiet enough to not wake their baby brother from his slumber. He placed the small boy in his hammock, the little one's preferred place to sleep, and pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, closing the door softly after he'd switched on the nightlight.

He made his way back down the corridor, sticking his head into Thor's room first.  
"Thor?"  
"Dad, you're back," the 12 year old smiled, standing from his bed to hug his father before cocking his head to the side, long blonde hair falling past his left shoulder as he did so, looking much like an inquisitive golden retriever,  
"What's wrong?"  
"Family meeting. Downstairs. Five minutes. Go." Nick kept his response short, his tone brooking no arguments.  
Thor nodded quickly, putting away the books on mythology he had sprawled over the bed and quickly making his way out of his room.

Nick crossed the hall, knocking on his daughters' door, almost wishing he was still dealing with paperwork at the office. The door opened quickly, two small girls standing in its place, their tiny hands linked, and curious but pleasant smiles on their faces. Nick smiled at his girls.  
Natasha was Clint's older twin, although they looked nothing alike. Whilst his baby boy was blonde and his eyes blue/grey, his youngest daughter had fiery red curls hanging at her shoulder, eyes a piercing ivy green. She was short, yet still taller than her twin, and slight, although her temper matched her hair. Maria - his oldest daughter - like half of her brothers, her features consisted of dark hair, yet her eyes matched the other three; a shade of blue, her's holding a strong resemblance to the ocean on a calm summer day.  
"Girls," Nick greeted, crouching to his daughters' heights and extending his arms for a hug.  
"Daddy!" they squealed in unison, being wrapped in an arm each before Natasha stepped back first, a concerned look on her face.  
"Is Clint okay?" a strong Russian accent coated her words, her voice a lot smaller than usual, worry clearly evident in her question.  
"He's sleeping right now, Nat, but he's fine."  
A small sigh of relief left both of his girls and he smiled internally at how worried they were for their only younger brother.  
"Family meeting in five minutes. I'll be down as soon as I get the other four, okay?"  
After receiving two nods, he watched as Maria pulled Natasha along, the younger child's legs near enough running to keep up with her sister's brisk pace.

Waiting for a few seconds after his daughters had disappeared, Nick was in debate over who to talk to next; his eldest, or his middle two. He opted for the latter, his thought process telling him that Steve and Phil would be easier to handle right now than Bruce and Tony.  
He made his way back across the hallway and down past Thor's room, coming to a halt at the second door from the curve leading to the stairs to the ground floor of the large house. Knocking twice, he opened the door and stepped inside, seeing exactly what he expected, a nine year old Phil watching a 10 year old Steve sketching yet another family picture.  
"Boys."  
"Dad!" exclaimed two voices, the synchronisation almost comical as the two continued,  
"You look mad, why do you look mad?"  
Nick sighed again (he was getting tired of feeling the need to) and just ordered,  
"Downstairs, family meeting, I'll be down in five minutes. Keep it quiet please, Clint's sleeping."  
Twin nods at his request and the two scampered out of the bedroom, their footsteps soft on the carpet and light on the wooden stairs. Nick braced himself for talking to his eldest, worried for what he'd find them doing...

 _*The Lab, just after the doors slammed shut in chapter 2*_  
Bruce wasn't so sure. He stared at his only older brother, the 16 year old currently absorbed with scouring the Internet in search of something, quote: "science-y and destructive". Bruce frowned a little, concerned, not over his 'Science Bro' but over the younger members of the family.  
Sure, Phil should've asked Thor to borrow the game, and Thor shouldn't have blamed Steve when he was actually trying to _give it back_ , and he and Tony _probably_ shouldn't have started yelling which then prompted his sisters to start shouting as well... Yeah, they all fucked up. Still, being angry was no excuse for them to not check on each other, especially on Clint who didn't even get involved, nor stick around to hear Tony start sassing.  
Tony turned around from the computer, a devilish smirk on his face before it slipped into a grimace as he saw Bruce's patented "Oh crap, I've fucked up, I feel really bad, I should probably apologise" face. That face meant only one thing: Tony would end up apologising for something that wasn't even his fault. Again.  
Thinking back on it, Tony's face was a near match to Bruce's as he realised that, as the oldest, he probably should've handled the situation better. His thoughts then turned to big blue/grey eyes and dark blonde hair, Russian mutterings tumbling from a tiny pink mouth as a cherubic little face started to crumple as tears replaced the natural shine in the pale cyan coloured hues. Shit. His dad was going to kill him.  
Well, he had a while until that happened, so might as well science before his premature death. With that decision in mind, he turned back to the 14, nearly 15, year old and snapped his fingers.  
"Brucie Brucie Bruce Bruce, it's science time!"  
Bruce whipped his head up, a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression, before he shook his head slightly, curls shaking with the motion, and a frown marring his features.  
"Why not?" Tony didn't whine, he didn't; whining is not what 16 year olds do, nope.  
Bruce gave him a look that plainly said, 'are you stupid, bitch?', prompting Tony to hang his head slightly in minor embarrassment, before pulling out the puppy face. Bruce sighed, knowing that Tony's face was nowhere near as adorable as Clint's, or as cute as either of his sisters', but it was still cuter than the rest of his brothers, except maybe Steve...  
"Fine! We can science, just put away the eyes and bottom lip, you'll trip over your own pout."  
Tony beamed, the sarcasm dripping from it, before springing from his chair with all the enthusiasm of a hyper puppy and lifting his laptop into his arms. He spun it round, the screen now facing Bruce, where the younger teenager could see the experiment Tony had chosen.  
"No."  
Tony widened his eyes slightly and his bottom lip started to sneak out.  
"I mean it this time. You know what that'll do, and I really don't fancy _piecing the lab back together_  because you wanted to try something **explosive**."  
Tony grimaced, Bruce's tone an indication that it was not going to happen. He sighed before a metaphorical lightbulb switched on above his head.  
"Can we do bucket chemistry then?" he asked, a slight smile on his face as he saw Bruce's brow crinkle in thought.  
At the nod he received from his brother, Tony let out an excited whoop! and rushed to his half of the large cupboard, from which he pulled out several glass bottles, and two pairs of high tech goggles he'd designed and made himself.  
"LET THE SCIENCE BEGIN!"

 _*back to the corridor after Steve and Phil had left*_  
Nick decided to try Bruce's door, dreading what he'd find in Tony's room. After knocking twice and receiving no answer, he entered the room and smiled, thankful that at least one of his children kept a tidy bedroom. He continued through the length of the room, and paused outside the door that connected both of his eldest's rooms to the lab he'd had specially installed after finding out the love for science the two boys shared.  
He took a deep breath before opening the door, though nothing could have prepared him for what he saw...


End file.
